“Or seeing how much they can starve us before winter hits,” Kenny added grimly.
Baird rose slowly. “Either way, this ends now.”
He went outside and addressed the gathered villagers.
“We’ll send what stores we can spare from the castle,” he instructed. “And I’ll see that ye have guards day and night. Nay Sinclair will cross yer borders again without a fight.”
Relief rippled through the crowd, though worry still clouded their faces.
Kenny stepped closer. “What’s the plan, then?”
Baird looked toward the hills where the Sinclair tracks disappeared. Snow clouds gathered behind them, heavy and threatening.
“Put more men on every outer village,” Baird ordered. “Double the patrols. And tell them their priority is food stores. If the Sinclairs want tae weaken us, they’ll strike where we can least afford it.”
Kenny nodded. “Aye, me laird.”
“And Kenny,” Baird added, lowering his voice, “tell the men tae be ready fer more. This was nay random raid. This was preparation.”
“Fer what?” Kenny asked.
Baird’s gaze darkened. “War, most like.”
The words settled in the cold air like frost. Baird mounted his horse again, staring out toward the distant mountains that marked Sinclair land. His clan was hungry, his stores were limited and winter was coming eagerly.
“Let’s go,” he said, voice hard as steel. “We need tae be back before nightfall.”
They turned their horses toward home, and each step echoed the truth in Baird’s mind. His people needed him steady. His wife needed him steady.
And the Sinclairs had just pushed their first piece onto the board.
CHAPTER NINE
The castle loomed ahead as Baird and Kenny rode through the gates. The journey back from Rowanford had been long, the mood grim, and every step of the horse beneath him only reminded him how little time he had before winter tightened its grip.
He was halfway across the bailey when he heard footsteps rushing toward him.
“Me laird!”
It was Davina.
He reined in sharply, turning just as she hurried down the steps. She held her skirts gathered in her hands to keep from tripping. Ailis trailed behind her looking apologetic, but Davina didn’t slow. One look at her worried and breathless face made something inside him waver, though he forced his expression to remain steady.
“Me laird?” she echoed. “What is wrong? Yer face… ye look troubled.”
He exhaled hard, more worn than he wanted to admit. Dust clung to his boots, the cold had sunk into his bones, and the memory of the ruined grain stores still burned behind his eyes.
“There are things I need tae handle,” he said more dismissively than he meant to. “Naething ye need tae worry yerself over.”
He started toward the castle steps, but she moved with him, still watching him with that sharp, perceptive gaze he had already learned to both admire and dread.
“Baird,” she said more firmly, “something has happened.”
He stopped, only for a heartbeat. They had not agreed to a first name familiarity, yet they had both started using each other’s given names in exactly the right situation. This was one of those.
Still, he didn’t answer her. Instead, he turned slightly toward the nearest guards. “Ewan. Tomas.”
Both men straightened at once.
